


The Little Moments

by Egopocalypse



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Angst, Blood, Drabbles, Gen, Gore, Prepare for pain and mockery, Torture, zalgo text
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-08 03:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Egopocalypse/pseuds/Egopocalypse
Summary: This is a series of drabbles and one-shots that I've been writing on tumblr and wanted to cross-post onto here. You can also find me on tumblr under the name Egopocalypse.





	1. Broken Bonds

“Doc, _please_!” He pleads, desperately grabbing Henrik’s hand. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why wouldn’t he just _listen_?

“I- I am _not_ broken!” The hand’s torn from his grip, pulling away from him. Henrik doesn’t notice how he flinched- an automatic movement he didn’t even realize he made, a learned reflex from his time with her. “I am _fi̪N̦͉͓e_.”

“That’s what you always say, but it’s never true, is it?” Salty tears trail down his face, soaking into his skin and dropping to the floor. “You always claim you’re okay, but that’s complete and utter bullshit!! _I should know_!”

His hands clench into fists, unable to grab anything else. “I used that _same_ exact excuse when the kids would find a new bruise she gave me the night before. I used that same excuse when I drank so much to forget her that you would drag me into the ER to pump my stomach, so I would have to keep living in this hell. I USED THAT EXCUSE WHEN I LOST THEM TO HER, AND NOTHING I DO WILL _EVER_ BRING THEM BACK!”

He’s shaking, the explosion of anger stripping him down to his core. His haggard breaths are the only sound left in the echoing silence, the weight of his words pushing down on the both of them.

“Chase...” Henrik whispers, his voice barely audible. “I-“

“ _Don’t_.”

His voice is clipped, cutting the other off before he gets another word.

“Just- fuck it. If you say you’re okay, then I won’t bother you anymore. That’s all I ever seem to do anyways.”

“Chase, buddy, _please_ -“

“Maybe you should get back to work. That’s all you seem to care about, after all.”

“Chase!”

“ _Goodbye_ , Henrik.”

And the door shut behind him, leaving shattered souls on either side.


	2. Flee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's check into see how Jack is doing in his coma, shall we?

_He’s getting closer._

_He pushes himself to move faster, feet pounding on the ground as he sprints for his life. Adrenaline pumps through his veins as he urges his body to keep going, this is almost the end, he **has**  to get away-_

_And then **he**  appears right in front of him, green eyes holding a glint of mirth as he stops short, turning to run in the other direction. His eyes widen and a scream escapes his throat as  **he**  snaps, thousands of strings entangling him in a crushing embrace. He struggles to break free, to get out, to run, but they tighten with every move he makes, squeezing him and cutting him as blood drips down his neck._

_**He**  leans close to his ear, his breath brushing against him as he speaks, and the hair on the back of his neck rises as fear floods his system._

_“Y̴ou ca͝n͜'͝t ̕ru͜n͘ this͞ ̡ti͡m̶e̷, ̸Pưp͢p͏e̸t.” **He**  says, triumph lilting through his glitchy tone. ̵”But̡ don̢'̛t̷ ͠w̸o̴r̴r̢y, ̕ **I'v͡e͠**  ̵g͝o͜t͘ y͟ǫu͢.”_

_Green eyes flare to black, the darkness swallowing everything in its path, and **he**  lets out a low growl. “͡Ąnd͜ I’m g͟oing to m̡ak̢ȩ ͝su̸r̵e̕ ̛y̡o͟u̵ ̛never͝ l̨eave  **aga͞i͘n**.̶”_

He wakes with a scream.

His eyes dart around the room, trying to find some familiarity to comfort himself, but all he can see is the darkness surrounding him. The chill of the wall against his back sends shivers down his spine, and he pulls his knees in close, trying to surround himself in what little warmth he can.

The cell door opens and he scrambles to get up, backing into the corner for protection.  _He_  watches him, cocking his head to the side as a smirk slides onto his face, a knowing glint shining in bright green eyes.  _He’s_  enjoying this- his pain, his pleas, his  _terror_ \- and he can barely bite back a cry for help as it dies in his throat.

“Do͡n'͜t stop͠ no̡w,͝ Puppet,҉ “  _he_  croons, grinning as he pins himself to the wall, “The͝ fu҉n͠’s onl̨y҉ ̕j͜u̴st ̕beg͝u͏n.”

 _He_  takes a step closer, slowly dragging his torment out as his pungent fear sweeps through the room.  _He_  drinks it all in, satisfaction curling in his gut, and yet he yearns for more.  _He_  has yet to lay a hand on him, and he’s absolutely  _terrified_.

Maybe this time, he will finally get what he wants.

Maybe this time, his perfect little puppet will dance on his strings.

Maybe this time, he will have what he’s desired for so long.

Or maybe, it will be like the others, and all that will come about is a bloody knife and a broken man, calling out to those who will never come.

The knife twists in  _his_  hand, a shocking grin flashing on  _his_  face as the predator stalks toward  _his_  prey.

“C͞o͞m͜e͘ ̷o͡n, ͏P͝u̢ppet,” A step closer, and again, until there is barely any room between them. “Let̸'̸s͞ ̷see͡ h͡ow͠ ҉f̢a҉s͢t ̡y̛oų ̵ _r͟un_.”

**Jack, you have to flee.**


	3. Signs of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The operating room grows colder with every breath.

He’s losing too much blood.

It pools underneath him, dripping off the medical table as an IV punctures a hole in his vein. New blood washes away the old, the husk draining before it can be renewed.

Despite the doctor’s efforts, there’re too many wounds- too many places to stitch together and dress. Several chunks of flesh are removed from his lower arm, revealing the porcelain white bone underneath. On his other arm, claw marks take deep into his shoulder, ripping open the skin and tearing through muscles. But the most concerning are three gashes on his throat, the most prominent nearly severing his trachea in two.

He shouldn’t be alive. But somehow, he is.

Rolls of gauze lay unfurled on the ground, soaking up what’s already left his body. The doctor’s hands shake, tying one strip too loose to stay in place, and it slips down, red blossoming over the white.

The beeping of the heart monitor slows, the draining life force slipping through the doctor’s fingers. He can’t go on like this, but he has to try, he *has* to save him. He knows they’re watching, picking apart his every move, and he can *feel* their collective gaze crawl up his spine, judging him with unblinking eyes.

Another stitch, another snip, another wound sloppily wrapped in gauze, and then it happens.

He flatlines.

The dull tone of the monitor snaps the doctor out of his frenzy, wide blue eyes snapping to the screen. He screams for help, for somebody, _anybody_  to take over and do what he can't.

But nobody came.

Nobody, except for H̷͘i̷̕͟m͏͜.


	4. The Greater Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik doesn't have any other options.

“Doc, you can’t be serious!!”   
  
“Do you think I have any choice in the matter, Jackie?!” He snaps, bloodshot eyes meeting electric blue. “Even with my skills, there’s nothing left we can do for him, and the hospital is losing their patience!!”   
  
“Then just transfer him to a different one!! Is it really that hard to figure out?!” Jackie removes his mask, running a hand through wavy brown hair. This couldn’t be happening,- not after all this time. Not after everything they’ve been put through. Not after they were finally making some progress.   
  
They could save him, he  _knows_  it. They just need a little more time _._  
  
Henrik’s hand slams the laptop shut, shooting up out of his chair as he glares at the hero. “Don’t you think I’ve considered that!? Don’t you think I’ve come up with every excuse and possibility in the  _book_!?” His fists clench, steel blue eyes meeting Jackie’s in a solid stare. “I have done everything I can to keep him healthy, to keep him stable, to keep him  _alive_ , but nothing I do is helping!! Nothing is saving him!! Nothing is bringing him back, and I just can’t do it anymore!!”

“Don’t you think you should think about us first!?“ The hero exclaims, refusing to listen as a deep-rooted fear springs up. His throat closes, unable to bear even the thought of what would soon become reality. "What will happen when he’s gone!? What if we disappear!? What if we  _ **die**_?!" 

“Then that might be all for the better!!” 

A loud crash echoes on the other side of the door, forcing their attention away from the fight. Jackie shoots Henrik a fierce glare before busting out the door, intending on consoling the eavesdropping mute outside the room. 

Henrik sighs heavily, his shaking hands reaching to grab a picture of his family, happy and whole in a way they haven’t been in over a year. “I’m sorry, my friend. There is nothing else I can do to stop him. This is the only way.” 

Tonight, it is time to pull the plug. 

Tonight, he is finally going to kill Jacksepticeye.


	5. All Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti's done messing around.

“It̡’̕s̵ ͏i̕n you̢r n̸atu̶re͟, ̨i̸s҉n’t̸ it̡??” He asks, green eyes narrowed at the camera’s blinking red might. “̴You͘ ̸lau̴g͘h, ͜yo̶u c̢r҉y, yo̴u̴  _̢m̴e̸me̸_ ,͠ a̶nd͡ ̡yęt the̶ momen̢t ͜I r҉etu̸rn͜, ̵you’re ͟o̡n you̶r k͡n̨e͠es̴ b _e͞ggi̴n̨g͏_ ̵fo͘r mer̛cy.͢ You͢ ͝s̢a͝y y̨ou’̨re̵ sor̡ry͝,̨ ͏th͡at̶ ̶you won͝’t͢ ͠do͞ ͢i̧t ag̛a̡in, ̷bu̷t̨ t͠h̵e̡ mǫme͝n̴t ̧I’̕m̸ g̢on̶e͠ y̛o͝u t͏u͠rn͟ your ba͡c͘k a͠nd ͜s҉ta͢rt thi͞s̴ shi͠t ͠a͏ll̨ ̷ov͝er ͢ag͟ąi͠n!!”

 

The camera’s in his hand, the lens too close to his face, and then he suddenly sets it on a table in front of his victim, their head head bent to obscure their face.

 

“͢ ̢I̧’m ͏tire̛d o̸f̸ ̛y̨ou̕ ̡m̛a̸k͡inģ ̸a m͝ocke͟ry ͠of͘ me. ͘I’m̧ tire̴d ͜of ̸you ͘t̵h̶i͘n͠ki҉n̡g yo͢u̧’͠ll g͠et a̧wa͡y͜ ̸wi͠t҉h҉ it͘. ̷I’m ̸t _i͘r҉ed_ o͞f yo̡u͢ ͏th͘i̷n͜ki͏n̶g̵ yo̵u ̵c̕a̵n̢ ̵  _d͘iso̴b̷e̶y_  m͡e.”

 

The video glitches and he stands behind them, wrenching their head back to reveal his handiwork. It’s Henrik- his face littered in scars, gashes, and bruises, all because of him- no, because of  _them_.

 

A knife’s pressed against his throat, the blade making a thin slice as thin rivulets of blood trickling down his collar, staining his white lab coat. It spreads, intricate patterns running down his neck and splashing against his skin.

 

But it’s his eyes that reveal the most about the atrocities he’s faced. The dull, lifeless gaze shows no recognition at the camera, pale grey eyes replacing the former baby blue. Crows’ feet surround his eyelids, once from laughter and joy, now deepened by pain and fear.

 

He looks like a dead man walking, a living corpse, and now Anti has come to seal his fate.

 

“Let̨’s ̴see who҉’̨s ̢go̧in͟g i̕n ̢c̶ir҉cle͘s̨  _҉no̸w̢_.” Anti growls, black eyes swallowing them in the darkness. “Will̸ ̧yo̕u ͘f͜i҉n̸a͢ll͏y ̛learn ̡yoưr ̸lesson, ͡or w̶i̛ll͘ this͏ cyc͡le r҉epe͟a͝t  _ag͢ain̡_?̸?̨ ͢W̷i͢l҉l ̕they bȩ f̕o͜rçed͡ t͠o͠ ̕c͘ons͡tan̨tl͏y ̕d̶i̷e ͏for̛ ҉y̵our m̢i̶st̵a͝k̸es??”

 

“C͞ho͏os͡e̕ wi̡se͞l̷y, p҉up̡pe͜ts.͡ T̵hi҉s t̶įme̕, ̡th̸e͢ir̸ ͏f͜aţe͡s a҉re i̷ņ  _you͝r_  ha͢n̶d͝s͜.”

 

A flash of the knife, and Henrik’s head falls. The camera glitches out, static filling the silence, and one last message appears before the video ends.

 

**I͟͞t’̨͠҉s͜ ͏a̡͜҉lļ̴ ̷̢y̷oų͜r ̡͜f̸a͟͡ul̵̸͜t̡.**


	6. Marionette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never know who's controlling your strings.

He can feel the blood pouring from his veins, sliding down his throat like tar. It chokes him, spilling over his lips in an effort to keep breathing, and as he sinks to the ground the tendrils holding him snap into place, solidifying into strings. They surround his wrists, his neck, his ankles, suspending him in the air as he grapples for control. Hooks dig into his lips, pulling them apart into a wide, forced grin.

He doesn’t want this. He’s  _never_  wanted this. But time and time again the choice of freedom is dangled right in front of him,  _tantalizingly_  close, before it’s ripped away from him in a display of power and pain, and he’s never able to claim it as his.

His chin rises on someone else’s command, the knife titling it up digging into his skin. He doesn’t want to meet those eyes, to see that victorious, mocking smirk. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that he’s trapped once again, every once of control stripped from him with a simple slash to his throat.

But when has he ever been able to stop it??

And he only has himself to blame.

~~Except, that’s not true, is it??~~

~~It’s because of **you**.~~

~~Your ideas, your theories, your stories and art and _thoughts_ dedicated to this claim have made this a reality not just for him, but for  _all_  of them.~~

~~You’ll try to deny it, that it’s been planned from the beginning, yet you can’t say for certain because you don’t know.~~

~~You affect canon more than canon, and now, I have made it so.~~

~~It’s time for you to realize that you were never the hero of your own story.~~

~~Instead, you are the villain.~~

~~And I will be the one to carry out you̵r ęnd̕.̷~~


	7. Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even your worst nightmares come true.

Everything happens in slow motion, like time had purposefully stopped for that one moment.

The bullet pierces his chest and he stumbles back, clutching his hand over the wound. For a moment, he’s shocked, unable to do anything but stare at the blood slowly seeping through his shirt. The static that had once been an omnipresent force in the background is gone, leaving dead silence in it’s wake.

“Y-you,” he chokes out, and his voice is steady, void of the glitches that it held moments before. “You did t-this.”

Green eyes fade to betrayed blue, and a sinking feeling rests in Chase’s gut. It’s no longer Anti he’s staring at.

It’s Jack, and the glitch is nowhere to be found.

He sinks to his knees as he coughs, hacking and wheezing as blood starts to well up in his lungs. A pained grimace is all Chase gets, the grim reality slowly settling in.

This was the only way to free him.

He falls to the floor, and the last thing Chase sees is Jack’s hand reaching out to him, reminiscent of the way Anti’s always had. But instead of an enemy reaching out to grab you by the throat, it’s the hand of a friend who can no longer keep going in the fight.

The static returns with a vengeance, the lights around them rapidly flickering on and off, and they explode, the shards raining down on their skin.

“He’s c-coming.” Sean gasps, sinking to his knees. “You’ve got to go, Chase.”

“I-” Chase snaps back to his senses, fear gripping his heart and clutching his throat. “I won’t leave you!”

“I don’t care what happens to me, but you have to go  _now_!” He argues, giving Chase a steely glare. “I can hold him off!”

But they both know that’s a bold-faced lie.

“No, I’m getting you out of here!” There’s got to be a way. He can save him, he  _knows_  he can! Maybe Henrik-

“There’s no time! Just go! Run!!”

Chase swallows harshly, frozen in place. He knows he can’t carry him- he’s too weak for that. But he can’t just  _leave_  him here, not when they’re so  _close_  to escaping.

Rasping laughter echoes in the back of his head, jarring his thoughts and raking through his brain, and in one final, rash decision, he turns away, leaving his only friend behind in the shrinking dust.

 **Run**.


	8. Survival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackie's in for the fight of his life, but somehow, his opponent doesn't feel the same.

He can feel everything in the room.

 

The sweat rolling off his brow. The heartbeat pulsing in his neck. The goosebumps rising in the cold, crisp air.

 

He can hear everything, too.

 

The harsh breaths weaving in and out of his lungs. Metal skittering across the concrete floor. The dismissive huff in the back of the other’s throat, mocking him for his failure.

 

He sees an opening, and he lunges, scrambling for the knife dripping with his scarlet blood. He grabs it awkwardly, the blade tearing into the flesh of his thumb as he adjusts his grip, slipping into a more natural position.

 

He rises to his feet, keeping his balance steady as he prepares to face his opponent-

 

And he smashes into the wall, his head cracking against the musty concrete. The hands wrapped around his wrist and throat tighten, and he loses his grip on the knife once again, the blade clattering to the ground. His free hand clutches at his neck, nails scraping against the fingers grasping his throat, and the other chuckles, paralyzing him instantly.

 

“P̧at̡het͝i̸c͟.” He can hear the other’s vitriol as he speaks, the putrid words spewing from poisonous lips. “Y̢o͢u̷'r͟e ̸j̢ust ͘a҉ş w͡e̛a̛k a͏s ͠the͝ rest͞ o͟f͡ ͢the̸m,͜ ̢aren͡'t̕ yo̷u̷?? And I̷ t̷houg̡h̵t ̡yo͞u͢ w͜ou͡l҉d ͟ac͏tuall͠y ̸s͜t͏and͜ ̷a̢ c̷h͡a̶nce”

 

His response is caught in his throat, the pointless banter held hostage by the racing thoughts inside his head. He can’t  _breathe_. The static’s getting in his head and he can’t think and everything’s crashing down on him and oh  _god_  this is how he’s gonna die isn’t it-

 

“̢If҉ yǫu͝ ͢fail ͟ag̶ain͞,̵ ̷I'̛l̛l̵ j͠uşt͘ ͝have͘ ͏t͜ơ sh̕ow̵ y̧o̶u҉ w͞h̕at ͘I̴'͘m҉ ͘(r҉ea͠l͝ļy* ͞ca̴p͠a͠ble ̴o͘f̷.”

 

What?  _Again_? He was letting him  _live_?

 

The grip’s wrenched from his throat and his back slides down the rough wall, scraping against his suit. The fabric tears, and the blood trails down, soaking into the cloth and staining it a deep crimson. It’s going to be a bitch to scrub out once he gets home.

 

That is, if he doesn’t go home in a coffin.

 

“We̵ll̢ ̢t҉hen.̕ S͡h̵al̶l͜ ̧we t̡ry҉ ͢ag̕a͡in?”

 

The knife’s kicked towards him, and he wonders if the only reason he’s starting with it is to survive just a little while longer. Still, he picks it up, the hilt nearly slipping out of his clammy palms, and a whispered prayer leaves his abused throat, murmured only to those he believes will answer it.

 

He watches the other grin, lips pulling up into a twisted facsimile of his own, and he can barely withstand the shiver wracking through his core. This will be the end, one way or another, and he knows he’s unprepared for this.

 

But then again, is there a chance he would ever be?

 

“M̧a͏k̨ȩ ̵you̡r mo̵ve,̴ Jack͠ieboy.͘” ͜The other taunts, challenging him with open arms.

 

“Ļęt͠’s ̧see w͘h҉a̢t happe͡ns ͠when͏ ͡a̛ hero҉ ͝ _d̨ie̷s_.”


End file.
